


The Gloria Scott

by springhorton



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-06
Updated: 2011-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springhorton/pseuds/springhorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A figure from Sherlock's past reemerges needing his help. His father is dead and the only clue to go on is a mysterious e-mail. Sherlock reluctantly agrees to investigate, bringing along his blogger/boyfriend to help out. Sherlock remains quiet about this "old friend" but John quickly realises that something very important happened between the two, years ago. As the case grows more complex, so do the relationships between the characters leading to emotional revelations and the possible end of the world's only consulting detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gloria Scott

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on Doyle's short story, The Gloria Scott. It's been adapted to the modern Sherlock format as well as many liberties taken with the storyline.

“The noodles were clearly overcooked,” Sherlock insisted.  
“Sherlock! They tasted exactly the same as they always do,” I countered.  
He shook his head as I wrapped my arms around myself in the chilly autumn air. It was late and we were walking back to our flat after dinner at the neighbourhood Chinese restaurant. It was a popular one, if the bottom third of the door handle was anything to go by.  
Sherlock glanced my way and buttoned up his coat. Then he reached over, pulled my arm down and tightly grasped my hand in his. His hand was warm inside his glove and the feeling made me smile. I tucked my other hand into my pocket and we walked the rest of the way in silence. I watched him, lost in his thoughts as he so often is, and wondered what was going on in there.  
When we got back to 221B, Mrs. Hudson came out of her flat and winked at the sight of us. “Sherlock, someone came by to see you. He said he needed your help.”  
“Oh?”  
“He said he was an old friend.”  
My eyebrows shot up and Sherlock’s formed into a frown.  
“He sounded desperate so I went ahead and let him in.”  
“You mean he’s upstairs now?”  
“I didn’t think you’d be too long. He’s only been waiting a few minutes.”  
Sherlock and I glanced at one another as Mrs. Hudson disappeared again. Then we climbed the stairs to our flat.  
“An old friend?” I asked. “Who could that be?”  
“I have no idea,” he answered as we stepped in. He stopped short in the doorway. He seemed to pale and a look went across his face as if someone had knocked the wind out of him.  
Standing in the middle of the living room was a man about Sherlock’s age, looking very well to do, but also very distressed. He turned to face us and gave a weak smile. “Sherlock! Thank god you’re back.” He stepped over and stuck out his hand.  
“Victor,” Sherlock whispered and then his face went stony and he tilted his chin. He didn’t shake hands. Instead he said, or more accurately growled, “What are you doing here?”  
The man named Victor looked deflated. He ran his hand through his hair and paced the living room. “I thought maybe you would help.”  
Sherlock turned and hung up his coat and scarf. “What gave you that impression?”  
“Sherlock, my father’s dead.”  
Sherlock hesitated and then stepped away from the door. I looked on, confused, but my attention caught. Neither of them seemed to remember that I was there.  
“I’m sorry, Victor. I liked your father, but what does it have to do with me?”  
“It was a heart attack. His blood pressure has always been horrendously unstable.”  
“I remember.”  
“Well, the day he died, he received an e-mail.” Victor pulled his mobile out of his jacket pocket and thumbed the buttons until he found what he was looking for. “He was in his office, reading this message when he let out a yell and jumped out of his chair. A few moments later he was dead.”  
Sherlock eyed him, a mixture of curiosity and trepidation on his face and then he took the phone.

He read the message and frowned. He gazed off into the distance, looking at something that wasn’t there and I could tell that his mind was furiously considering the possibilities.  
I watched as he flipped the phone over and over again in his hands and then I cleared my throat. “Uh, Sherlock, could I…?”  
“Certainly.” He handed me the phone and said, “Victor, this is John Watson. John, Victor Trevor.” With that he stepped into the kitchen doorway and kept his back to us.  
“Hi,” Victor said with a nod. “Nice to meet you.” He had a strange look in his eye, as if trying to decide what to make of me.  
“Hello,” I said and looked to Sherlock. He hadn’t moved. When I looked back at Victor, he was staring at Sherlock. I shook my head, not sure what to make of things myself and then read the message on the phone out loud. “They very great game we watched is again coming up. Our friend Hudson most often has to be told to purchase all the tickets. Run and check for it is your sporting man’s life.” I frowned as well and then said, “What the hell does that mean? And why would it scare your father into a heart attack?”  
“I have no idea,” Victor replied. “That’s why I’m here.”  
Sherlock turned slightly. He had his arms crossed and was tapping a finger on his lips. “Obviously it’s some kind of code.”  
“I figured it must be.”  
“And Hudson. Wasn’t he your father’s Australian friend?”  
“Yes, that little wretch that hung around the summer you stayed with us.” I glanced at Sherlock as Victor continued, “He came back a few weeks ago, wanting more favours from my father, being a nuisance.” He paused and took a deep breath. “There’s more though. When we started doing all the legal paperwork for my father’s affairs, well, we couldn’t find him.”  
“You couldn’t find him?” I repeated as Sherlock turned to face us.  
“Exactly. If you look back in the records to a few years before I was born, there is no Victor Trevor Senior. He doesn’t exist.”  
“You mean your father was using a false identity?” I said.  
Victor shrugged and shook his head. “It appears that way. So, Sherlock, will you help? I can pay you, very generously.”  
Again Sherlock’s chin tilted and a flicker of anger flashed in his eyes. “I don’t need your money, Victor.”  
“Fine, but will you take my case?”  
Sherlock waited a moment before answering. I had a frightening suspicion that he was relishing Victor’s angst. Finally he said, “Of course I’ll take the case, but not because you asked me to.”  
Victor nodded. “I know.”

When Victor left, I turned to Sherlock and said, “What was that all about?”  
He was sitting in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin. “You heard. He wants to know the truth about his father.”  
“Yes, I did hear, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”  
He slowly turned his head to gaze at me. I held his stare and crossed my arms.  
“You know what I’m talking about,” I insisted. “Your history with Victor Trevor.”  
“There is no history with Victor Trevor,” he answered coldly. “I knew him once, that’s all.” With that, he stood and walked to the window, staring down at the street below.  
I opened my mouth to say something, but it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it, so I closed it. I frowned at his back, but he just stood there so I took off my coat and headed for the bedroom. I thought I saw him turn his head, out of the corner of my eye, as I walked away.  
Over the next couple of days, Sherlock searched every database and went through all of Victor’s father’s papers. It was true, five years before his son was born, there was no record of Victor Trevor ever having existed.  
It had been days since Sherlock had eaten. In fact, dinner at the Chinese place was the last I could remember. So I fixed us a risotto and brought it to the table. He had the laptop open and was staring at the screen. I set the plate down next to him, but he didn’t acknowledge my presence.  
“Sherlock, you need to eat,” I insisted.  
“Hmm?” he said absently and looked down at the plate just as preoccupied. He frowned and pushed it away.  
“Come on, Sherlock. You like my risotto.” He didn’t seem to hear me so I sighed and said, “Fine, what is it?”  
“It’s Victor,” he answered, closing the laptop. “He wants us to finish investigating from his place.”  
“The one in the country?” I asked. I paused and then added, “Where you stayed before?”  
“Yes, that one.” He grabbed the plate of risotto and took it to the couch. I followed him and we ate in silence, watching crap telly.

The next morning I stepped out of the bedroom with a yawn to find Sherlock already dressed, in black jeans and that damned purple shirt no less and packing a suitcase. I had some tea, followed suit and then we waited for Victor to send a car to pick us up.  
“Victor’s father must have done very well in his business,” I pointed out as Sherlock sat down by the window.  
“Yes.”  
What kind of business?”  
“Textiles.”  
“Textiles?”  
“Yes, John, textiles. Carpet, fabric, that kind of thing.”  
I gritted my teeth. “I know what they are, Sherlock. I didn’t know it was that lucrative though.”  
“Apparently it was for Victor Trevor.”  
We sat in silence for a moment and then I said, “I don’t think we’re going to miss it.”  
“Miss what?”  
“The car. You’re practically sitting on the window sill.”  
“Oh,” he muttered and looked around as if he didn’t realise where he was.  
He looked incredibly apprehensive about going to Victor’s house, but at the same time, he seemed anxious to get there. He became listless, wandering about, and when I looked up at him, his mind was far away.  
I cleared my throat and said, “Did you make any progress on the note?”  
He grinned and picked up a notepad from the dining room table. Then he sat next to me on the couch and handed me the pad where he’d written out the message.  
“We were looking for coded meaning in the words,” he stated.  
“Right.”  
“But it had to be something frightening enough-“  
“To scare a man to death,” I finished.  
“Exactly…Do you see it?”  
I scanned the note again and shook my head. “It could mean anything.”  
“No! It’s not a secret code. The real message is right there. Look John, really look.”  
There was a crazed passion in his eyes that I’d seen many times before. I looked over the message like my life depended on it because I knew if I didn’t figure it out he’d be annoyed with me for the rest of the day.  
“Well,” I said, “I’m assuming that this Hudson mentioned is the one you and Victor mentioned.”  
“Good, keep going.”  
“So, him being mentioned is important.”  
“Specifically, his name.”  
“His name?”  
“Yes.”  
I thought for a moment and then said, “In relation to the rest of the message?”  
Sherlock only stared at me, cat like, a small grin forming on the left side of his mouth. I held his gaze, mesmerized, until a stirring in my trousers made me realise that I’d gotten distracted. I made myself stare down at the paper, trying to link fear and Hudson with what I was reading. Suddenly, a gasp escaped my lips. I looked back at Sherlock and his grin had become a full fledged smile.  
“You see it, don’t you?”  
“Yes. I mean, I think so. If you take every third word,” I said as Sherlock handed me a pen. I started circling words and then continued, “Then the message says, ‘The game is up. Hudson has told all. Run for your life.’”

I stared at the paper for a moment, my jaw hanging open. Sherlock shook me from my reverie by standing and going back to the window. I watched him brush aside the curtains and then said, “What was Victor Trevor involved in?”  
He nodded. “That is the question, isn’t it? The car’s here, John. Let’s go find out.”  
We packed our luggage in to the boot of Victor’s car and drove north into the countryside. We were both quiet, staring out at the scenery as it went by. After a couple of hours, we could make out a large, garden filled estate looming ahead. I leaned forward as a massive old manor house came into view.  
I let out a whistle and said, “Wow.”  
“Yes,” Sherlock affirmed, his tone mild, almost bored.  
As we drove up to the courtyard, Victor came bounding out the front door to meet us. When Sherlock stepped out of the car, a big smile crossed Victor’s face.  
“Sherlock. Thank you so much for coming.”  
Sherlock looked passed Victor, surveying the house and grounds so I answered, “You’re welcome.”  
Victor looked over at me as if just realising I was there and gave me a small nod. “Well, anyway,” he said, “I suppose you’ll be wanting to get down to the investigating.”  
“Yes,” Sherlock answered.  
We followed Victor up the stairs after he informed us that someone would come for our luggage.  
I leaned over to Sherlock and muttered, “You’re very talkative this afternoon aren’t you?”  
He eyeballed me and then walked on. I trailed behind him, feeling apprehensive about the whole case. We were led through a huge foyer where the ceiling went all the way to the top of the house. I glanced up at the circling staircase before catching up with the other two.  
“Looks like an accident waiting to happen,” I said to Sherlock, pointing at the ceiling. I saw the first hint of a grin since we’d left London.  
Victor stopped and smiled too. “Actually, I believe there was a distant relative who committed suicide by throwing himself off of those stairs.” With that he turned and opened a set of double doors leading into a large study with mahogany and leather furniture and shelf after shelf of books.  
“My father’s study,” he announced. He stepped behind the desk and plopped down in the chair. “Do you have any idea what’s going on, Sherlock?”  
“John,” Sherlock prompted.  
“Oh, right.” I took the slip of paper with the circled words out of my pocket and handed it to Victor. He had much the same reaction as I’d had.  
“Dear god. My father’s life was in danger?”  
“Apparently,” Sherlock said. “Do you have any idea who sent the e-mail?”  
“Not really, no. It had to be someone he knew and trusted though, don’t you think?”  
“Someone he knew well enough to share a secret code with.” He reached into his jacket pocket and produced another sheet of paper. “I found a letter from someone named Beddoes.”  
“He’s a friend of my fathers, lives just up the road.”  
“It’s a rather cryptic letter that mentions something called the Gloria Scott. From the wording, your father must have known what he was talking about, but I’ve found no other mention of it in any of his papers.”

 

Victor took the note and shrugged. “I have no idea what it means. And I’ve given you all of my father’s papers.”  
“There must be more,” Sherlock insisted.  
“Do you want to search the whole house?”  
“Good idea,” he replied.  
I looked up at him and shook my head. “This place is enormous.”  
“You can help him then,” he countered.  
“Me?” Victor and I said in unison.  
“Yes,” Sherlock answered and disappeared into the foyer. He returned with his laptop a few minutes later and looked genuinely surprised to see the two of us still sitting there.  
“You’re still here.”  
“Yes,” I said. “What is it you’re going to be doing while we search the house?”  
“Searching the internet for references to the Gloria Scott.”  
I sat for a few more moments, just staring at him and then I sighed and stood. I turned to Victor and said, “Shall we?”  
Victor and I spent the rest of the day scouring the house while Sherlock alternated between typing furiously and pacing furiously. Finally, with only about half of the house searched, I stepped into the study covered in dust and sweat. Victor dragged in behind me.  
“Find anything?” Sherlock immediately asked.  
“Nothing,” I answered and sank into a chair.  
He looked disappointed so Victor added, “Sorry Sherlock, but we haven’t finished looking. Maybe tomorrow.”  
“Tomorrow?” he repeated in disbelief.  
“Yes, Sherlock, tomorrow,” I said. “We’re tired. What about you? Find any leads?”  
“A couple, but none that make any sense at this point.”  
I joined Sherlock in skipping dinner that night, feeling too exhausted to bother. Victor sent in his butler as he left to dine alone.  
“I’m to show you to your rooms,” the elderly man announced.  
I looked over at Sherlock, but he had no reaction to Victor arranging separate sleeping quarters.  
“Uh, ok,” I muttered and we followed the man up the stairs. I was shown into a large bedroom with a four poster bed, a fireplace, Persian rugs and a bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub. Any other time I might have been impressed, but at that moment I was tired and upset. I decided to climb into the tub, wash myself off and let the jets soothe my aching muscles. I felt clean and refreshed when I was through and went straight to bed.  
I slept rather fitfully and was awoken a couple of hours later by the feeling of someone snuggling into my back. I started and quickly got up to find Sherlock looking wide awake and a bit frisky.  
“What are you doing?” I asked.  
“It’s a really big bedroom,” he said a bit sheepishly. “Dark and lonely. I thought you might want some company.”  
“Oh no you don’t,” I said a bit harshly. “You’ve been cold and distant ever since this case started. You can’t just come in here now and cozy up to me.”  
He was quiet for a moment and I could see that I’d hurt him. Tears started to form in his eyes as he said, “Fine,” and rolled over to the edge of the bed to get up.  
“Sherlock,” I said with a sigh. He stopped and laid there with his back to me so I said, “Please tell me what’s going on.”  
After a moment he quietly said, “I love you, John.”  
“I know that.”  
“And I imagine it can’t be easy to love me.”  
“Sometimes, but I do.” I crawled back into bed and leaned against the headboard.  
“Most people only see me as a cold, calculating sociopath who’s incapable of caring for anyone.”  
“I’ve never thought that,” I tried to assure him.  
“Most people do,” he insisted. “They’re wrong though. There’s a reason I never let anyone in.”  
“Yes, well, I always figured that someone must have broken your heart at some point, someone you…” I paused in midsentence and then said, “Victor?”  
Sherlock rolled towards me and nodded.

He took a deep breath and I laid down beside him. He seemed a bit embarrassed so I said, “Go on.”  
“I met Victor at Uni. As you can imagine, I wasn’t a social butterfly. I didn’t make any friends.”  
“Yes, I remember the way Sebastian acted.”  
“Oh yes, your so-called Blind Banker case. Well, I ran into Victor one day by accident, literally. Nearly destroyed a chemistry set.”  
I smiled, the image of a young, awkward Sherlock flashing through my mind.  
“It wasn’t exactly a perfect match, our interests were very different, but we became friends. He was impressed with my deductive skills and I with his interest.” He turned onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. He pressed him palms onto the bed, unconsciously tightening his grip on the sheets.  
“After two years at school, Victor invited me to his father’s house for the summer holidays.”  
“Where you met this Hudson character?”  
“Yes, but it was mostly rest and relaxation. I think Victor’s father was intimidated by me, though, spooked by how much I could tell about him. So, it was mostly Victor and I spending time together.” He paused and frowned, tears forming in his eyes again. “I’d known Victor for two years. I’d never seen him with a girlfriend. He hadn’t even gone on any dates, so I thought, maybe…”  
“So you told him how you felt?”  
“Yes.”  
“And he rejected you, told you he didn’t feel the same?”  
Sherlock shook his head. “I would have been alright with that, John. Perhaps a bit disappointed. No, Victor ended our friendship right then. He threw me out of the house, this house, and told me he never wanted to see me again. And I hadn’t seen him, not until the day he showed up in our flat.”  
I shook my head and said, “Wow, I’m surprised you agreed to help him at all.”  
“Yes, well, it was an interesting case.”  
I wiped a tear off of his cheek and gently untangled his hand from the sheet. “You do realise that I’d never do something like that don’t you? Because if you’re lumping me in with that guy then I’m going to be very insulted.”  
He turned his head and grinned at me. The sight sent sparks shivering down my spine. We stared at each other for a moment and then I rolled over on top of him and pinned him to the bed.  
“You aren’t lumping me in with that guy are you?” I asked playfully.  
Sherlock glanced at his pinned hands. “Why? Are you going to punish me if I am?”  
“What?” I said and started laughing uncontrollably. “No!” I shook off the thought of Sherlock in leather and tied to the headboard. I rolled off and sat on the edge of the bed, giggling.  
“Suit yourself,” he replied. He sat up and scooted over behind me. I could feel his hot breath on my neck as his hands slowly slid inside my shirt. I put my head back as he worked the shirt off, kissing each spot as he went. As he reached the scar on my shoulder, he lifted my arms and slipped the shirt off. Then he moved his mouth around my scar so gently that I could barely feel it, a soft tickle that made my heart and soul scream out in joy. I squeezed my eyes shut, not sure how much more I could take.  
Time and space lost all meaning. I heard a distant rustling between his kisses that I thought might have been him taking his clothes off, but I didn’t open my eyes to find out. Suddenly, I found myself naked and leaning against the headboard again.  
I grinned and said, “How did you do that?”  
“Shh.” He put a finger to his lips and then ran his fingers through my hair. The look in his eyes was gentle, but hungry. He straddled my legs and then slowly lowered himself on to me. I let out a gasp and he a throaty moan.  
He wrapped his arms around my neck and I settled my head into his shoulder. We held on to each other’s backs as our rhythm became harder and faster. The bed began to creak and Sherlock grabbed the headboard. He pushed his arms straight, throwing his head back, his closed eyes toward the ceiling. Finally, with one last thrust we both yelled out and Sherlock wrapped his arms around me again. We stayed like that for a while, our chests heaving. Then Sherlock leaned back, took my head in his hands and kissed my forehead.

I woke up again later on and this time Sherlock was standing at the window, his naked frame illuminated by the moonlight.  
“What are you doing?” I mumbled. I rubbed my eyes and leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp.  
“Leave it,” he said.  
I let my arm fall. “Sherlock?”  
“You agreed that it wasn’t easy to love me.”  
“Oh god.”  
“You won’t put up with me forever, John. No one ever does. Everyone always leaves in the end, even my own family. I think Mycroft still tries, but…I’ve never really cared. Not until you.”  
I threw off the blankets and sat up. “I’m not going anywhere, Sherlock.”  
“You will, John. One day I’ll do something or say something and it’ll push you too far. You’ll leave. And I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”  
With that he suddenly started sobbing uncontrollably. He looked like he was about to collapse so I hurried over and put my arms around him, pressing my cheek into his back. I kissed him between the shoulder blades and whispered, “No, Sherlock, don’t.”  
We stayed like that for a few minutes and then I gently turned him around. I cupped his face in my hands and smiled.  
“I’m not going anywhere. You’ve made my life wonderful, given me a purpose again. I’ve been sleep deprived, charged with a crime I didn’t commit, shot at, kidnapped twice and blown up.” We both laughed and then I finished seriously, “I’ve killed for you and I’d die for you, Sherlock.” We stared at each other for a moment and then I said, “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”  
The next day we finished scouring every inch of the house and finally returned to Trevor’s study still empty handed.  
“I don’t understand!” Sherlock exclaimed, pacing angrily. “There must be something more.”  
I sat in a chair, my chin resting in my hands. I was so tired it was all I could do to try not to giggle at a smudge of dirt on Sherlock’s nose. He noticed and gave me a suspicious squint. I just shook my head and then went back to trying not to laugh.  
Sherlock continued his frantic pacing, one hand in his pocket and the other rubbing his jaw. He stopped suddenly and stared at a bookcase by the desk. He pointed to a heavy looking pewter paper weight. Victor and I turned our gazes to it.  
“That griffin,” Sherlock said, indicating the figurine. “It was turned the other way yesterday.”  
Victor shrugged. “Probably just the maid. Moved it when she was dusting.”  
“I don’t think so,” Sherlock replied. “A maid, dusting this room day after day? It’s unlikely she’d forget which way it’s suppose to face.” He walked over to the figurine to pick it up, but it wouldn’t budge. Intrigued, he turned it and we heard a clicking noise in the wall behind him. He turned it again and a partition in the wall slid open.  
Victor and I jumped up and followed Sherlock who had immediately dashed in. What we saw when we entered was another study, this one completely ransacked.  
“Someone found it before we did,” I said.  
“Hudson,” Sherlock breathed.  
There were papers and books strewn about everywhere, most of them about Trevor’s business, but some were about Australia and some were personal letters.  
After a while Sherlock yelled out in triumph. “There’s a hidden compartment under the desk. Hudson didn’t find it. There’s a strong box here.”  
“What’s this all about?” Victor moaned in exhaustion and confusion.  
“If I’m right-“  
“Which he always is,” I interjected.  
Sherlock grinned and then said, “The contents of this box are going to tell you that your father’s real name wasn’t Victor Trevor, he wasn’t always a business man and he wasn’t even born in this country.”  
Victor stared as he took the box from Sherlock. He hesitated a moment and then quickly opened it and began reading the papers inside.  
“’Dear Son, if you are reading this letter, then I must be gone. I suppose it’s just easiest to start by saying that my name was not Victor Trevor.” Victor’s gaze flew up to Sherlock and he stared at him in disbelief before reading on in silence.  
I pulled Sherlock away from the desk and said, “How did you know?”  
“The Gloria Scott, John. At first the reference made no sense, but the more I thought about it and after what we found today, it all fit together perfectly.”  
“And what’s the Gloria Scott?”  
“It’s the nickname of an Australian prison. In the late nineteenth century a ship named the Gloria Scott took prisoners sentenced to transportation to Australia. Most of those prisoners ended up at the same prison.”  
“So the prison also became known as the Gloria Scott.”  
“Exactly!”

Victor walked up behind us looking devastated. “You were right, Sherlock. He wasn’t even British.”  
“Let me guess, Australian?”  
Victor nodded. “You always did think there was something off about his accent.” He paused and then added, “Apparently, he’d been in prison. My father wasn’t a business man, he was a forger who specialised in documents.”  
Sherlock was smiling. “You see, John, on the last voyage of the Gloria Scott the prisoners mutinied, killed the crew and razed the ship.”  
“The prisoners used it for inspiration,” Victor said. “My father fell in with a group that included Hudson and Beddoes.”  
“Beddoes, your neighbour?” I asked.  
“And the one who sent the e-mail,” Sherlock added.  
Victor nodded again. “They decided to cause a riot as a distraction so they could escape. But things got out of hand and some of the guards were killed. They pulled off the escape, but went their separate ways. My father forged some British identities and he and Beddoes came here.”  
“Good lord,” I said.  
“Yes,” Victor agreed with a nervous laugh.  
The three of us stepped out of the study. I shook my head, trying to wrap my head around it all.  
“If Hudson told the police, wouldn’t he implicate himself as well?” I asked.  
“Yes,” Sherlock answered. “I believe Beddoes may have overreacted. I have a feeling Hudson may have been trying to frighten Beddoes and Trevor in order to blackmail them.” As Sherlock finished, he moved to the window behind the desk. “Phone the police,” he said.  
“What is it?” I asked.  
“Hudson,” he answered and bolted out of the room.  
“Sherlock! Wait!” I said. I saw Victor was already dialing his phone so I took off after Sherlock. When I ran out the front door I saw Hudson take off for a patch of woods on the far side of the property, Sherlock in hot pursuit.  
“Damn it!” I yelled and ran after them. After a minute or two I could hear Victor’s footfalls behind me and sirens in the distance. The woods were thick, but Hudson and Sherlock seemed to be following a trail. At least I hoped they were.  
“Hudson!” Sherlock yelled. “The game’s up!”  
“Very clever, Sherlock,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes. Then I yelled out, “Sherlock!” I got no reply so I kept running.  
“Hudson!” Sherlock yelled again and it sounded like I was getting closer.  
The next thing I heard was a gunshot. My breath caught in my throat and I stopped short. “Sherlock,” I breathed and then ran on. The trail went down a hill and I could see him lying at the bottom. I thought, maybe, he had just ducked for cover, but then he cried out and writhed in pain. I ran to him and knelt down beside him.  
Victor came running up beside us. “Dear god!”  
“Go after Hudson!” I yelled. “Be careful, he’s armed.”  
He hesitated and then ran on.  
“John,” Sherlock gasped as he rolled onto his back. The effort made him yell out again.  
“Just lie still,” I told him.  
He was paler than usual with his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. I ripped open his shirt and looked over the wound.  
“How bad is it?” he asked.

“It’s an abdominal wound,” I answered. “It won’t kill you quickly, but it could cause a lot of damage and hurt like hell.”  
“Yes, I noticed.”  
“I’m going to have to put pressure on it.” I placed my hands on top of one another on Sherlock’s side and bore down.  
Sherlock cried out and then rasped, “Oh god, John.” He bit his lip and his eyes rolled back.  
“I know. I’m sorry.” Suddenly, I heard more footsteps in the woods and my pulse quickened. “They’re here. It’s gonna be alright.”  
Police officers went running by and I waved the rescue team over. They knelt down beside us and I rattled off Sherlock’s status absentmindedly. I watched his face like it was the only thing in the world. The next thing I knew, they were lifting him into the ambulance.  
“I’m coming too,” I stated.  
“Sir, it’s not really-“ One of the medics started saying.  
“I’m a doctor, I’m coming too,” I insisted.  
They let me in so I sat down next to Sherlock and took his hand. Once again, the world disappeared. I was vaguely aware of the chaos around me as the medics fought to keep Sherlock alive. The two of us only stared at each other though and didn’t say a word. I knew I should have been worried about him, but at that moment I wasn’t. I marveled at his ability to mesmerise me and then we pulled into the hospital’s emergency bay, breaking the spell. I stayed out of the way as they unloaded the gurney and then I scrambled out after them.  
“John!” Sherlock yelled and I caught up with them and took his hand again. We ran into the emergency department and doctors came rushing over. The medics explained the situation and then they started to whisk him away. I knew deep down that they would never let me through, but I tried to follow them anyway. A short, dark haired woman turned and put her hand to my chest.  
“Sir, my name is Doctor Shad. I’m a surgeon. What’s your name?”  
“John,” I answered quickly, watching the gurney disappear. “John Watson.”  
“Well, John, I’ll be in the operating theatre today. I promise we will do our best for your friend.”  
“I know,” I said, taking a deep breath. She smiled and patted my arm and then hurried after the gurney. I don’t know how long I stood there after they had disappeared, but after a while my body began to feel like a lead weight and I sank into a chair. I felt the sting of tears and bit them back.  
Minutes ticked by, turning into hours. Once in awhile someone would come by to see if I was alright. I would nod and they would hesitantly move on. After awhile Victor phoned with news. I listened to what he had to say, my brain struggling to make replies. I didn’t eat, I didn’t even move. I just sat in the chair, facing the hallway where I’d last seen him, glancing away long enough to check the clock now and then.  
Finally, after night fall, I saw Doctor Shad round the corner of the hallway. I jumped out of my seat and met her as she walked up.  
“Hello again, John.”  
“How did it go?”  
A strange look, almost wistful, came over her face and I received an answer I wasn’t expecting. “I have to tell you that he was very frightened going in, calculating his odds of survival in fact.”  
I shook my head. “That sounds about right.”  
“I asked him if he wanted to live and he just nodded. Then I asked him if he had anything worth living for.”  
“What did he say?”  
“He said, ‘Yes, he’s out in the waiting room.’”  
My eyes teared up and I choked so badly that I couldn’t talk.  
“I don’t think he was afraid of dying,” Doctor Shad went on. “He was just afraid of disappointing you.”  
I laughed through my tears and said, “How is he?”  
She smiled and patted my arm again. “He’ll be fine. He’s in recovery. He’s still under, but you can go sit with him if you like.”  
When I walked into Sherlock’s room, he looked like hell. He was pale and drawn with wires attached to him. But he was breathing on his own and all of his vitals looked strong. I sat down beside him and took his hand. I cupped it in my hands and brought it to my mouth. I delicately kissed each finger and then held it to my cheek and closed my eyes.  
Then I heard a whisper. “You do know you might catch something doing that in a hospital?”  
I opened my eyes and smiled. Then I asked the dumb question everyone always does. “How do you feel?”  
He rolled his eyes and groaned. “Like I got shot. How do you think I feel?”  
“Unpleasant, isn’t it?” I said with a laugh.  
“At least we can compare scars now. Did they catch Hudson?”  
I nodded. “The truth’s all out now. I don’t know what’ll happen to Victor.”  
Sherlock shook his head. “Not what I was hired for. Our case is closed.”  
“Just like that? Everything’s right with the world?”  
“Is it, John?” he asked and looked away. After a moment he looked back and said, “Are we alright?”  
I smiled and kissed his hand again. “Get some rest."


End file.
